Still here, just in limbo...

Reno limbo, that is. That's right, our little "kitchen project" has turned into a 5-month long nightmare that doesn't appear to have an end in sight. See, the hubs has been extra-busy at work and traveling more than usual, which cuts back on weekend renovation time. And, since he refuses to pay anyone to help us out, we're still in sawdust-everywhere-disaster-zone hell.

At least the weather is getting better, but then there's our backyard that he dug up in the fall with the intention of planting new grass in the Spring. But it doesn't look like that's going to happen for a while, either :/ In related news, our wonderful new neighbors now hate us.

Despite everything, I've managed to hold on to a few shreds of sanity. But it's wearing very, very thin. Thank goodness for in-laws that take the boy every once in a while, even if they do stuff his little face with way too much candy. If not for them, I wouldn't have even got this wee post in. So at least I have that.

I've been itching to get some posts up - I've got some good stories I haven't gotten around to writing - and I want to get them out before I forget in my old age!

Anyway, I'll do my best to pop in a bit more often, hopefully once I get my living space back & can actually sit down without becoming covered in dust, plaster or paint...

Okay 2011 - Can we start over?

Talk about slacking off - could this really my first post of the not-so-new year? Holy crap, it is! Let me just say it's been a hellish last few weeks, to say the least. I hate to start 2011 on such a negative note, but seriously, can I just erase the whole month of January and start fresh?

I realize there's probably no one even reading this, after me being on hiatus for so long, but I wanted to at least check in and say, hey, I'm still here - just totally wrapped up in home wreckos renos, longer-than-usual commutes thanks to the lovely wintery weather, and dealing with my son's JK debacles.

My latest downward spiral started as expected, when we began renovating back in December. Being crammed in this god-forbidden basement hasn't exactly helped my creative juices flow - I haven't had much motivation to write lately.

I've also been dealing with leaky pipes, a malfunctioning furnace, a husband with a sprained hand and a very sick cat who had to be rushed to the emergency vet clinic last weekend. Pretty much anything that could go wrong, has.

Things started out smoothly enough, renovation-wise that is, until Hubby had his hand crushed by a 500-pound cabinet at work. Understandably, all renos came to a halt. There's only so much construction one can manage with a single working hand.

After resting up for a few days, back to work he went, cutting and moving vents and pipes all over the place. Then, we sprung a couple of leaks and water was shut off turned back on and shut off again; at one point we were down to one washroom. Not the end of the world, I admit. Small problems.

But, in the midst of our plumbing issues, the family cat was struck with one of his own. His urinary system became blocked, seemingly overnight. After a very expensive visit to the animal hospital, where they did as much as they could for him, we took him home. We tried in vain to feed and medicate him but he refused to eat, couldn't go pee and we could do nothing but watch him get weaker and weaker. It was heartbreaking to see him in such pain. The vet suggested we have him euthanized; he was almost 14, had heart and kidney issues and they didn't think he'd survive a surgery.

It was much harder on me than I thought it would be. After Ciaran was born, I didn't have time for playing and petting him, like I used to. I became annoyed with having to take care of him. It seemed like I was constantly cleaning up hairballs, cat puke or litter boxes, when I wanted to be relaxing or playing with my son in a nice, clean house. I made rude comments about how I wished he would run away and never come back or how I'd never get another cat after he passed away. The few times he did escape I'd end up worrying like crazy. And the house always felt different, more empty.

We got to say goodbye before he was sedated, but he wasn't the same. He was tired and feeble, not at all the feisty feline who had lived up to his name, Dr. Acula. I guess he knew it was his time.

I'm amazed by how much I miss that little furball. I keep glancing around at the floor, half-expecting him to brush against my legs as he saunters by. I miss his little face, always looking up at me expectantly, looking for a treat, or just some attention. I only wish I'd been more receptive. I like to think he knew he was part of the family, though. Whenever he did take off looking for a taste of freedom, he always did find his way back home.

We haven't broken the news yet to Ciaran. Tony and I disagree on how to tell him. I think we should tell him the truth - he'll learn about death sooner or later and this seems like a good opportunity to teach him. Tony thinks he's still too young, and has told him the cat has gone to a special "cat farm" until we've finished renovating our house.

I'm not sure who's right, but I don't know how much longer I can answer Ciaran's questions about where the farm is and who lives there. I tear up when he asks if Acci is chasing the other kitties. On the other hand, if there was such thing as a cat heaven, I'm sure that's exactly what he'd be doing.

RIP Dr. Acula

Best Friends

Pushed to the Edge

Just when I thought my stress levels would start evening out a bit after the holidays - guess what? Surprise, surprise - they haven't. If anything I may have hit a new high on the old stress scale. What with our current kitchen reno situation and - gasp! not having a dishwasher for like 3 weeks now - things (my patience, namely) have been quickly falling to the wayside.

We've been holed up in our (yikes! unfinished) basement until the renos are complete, speaking of which, seem to be taking waaay longer than anticipated. But I did anticipate this, actually. These projects always take twice as long as you originally plan. Especially when your husband insists on doing all the work himself.

I'm trying hard to keep my mouth shut until things go really wrong. Should it come down to it -  I have Mike Holmes on speed dial, but for now, I'm zipping it. Hubs has been getting enough hassle from my mother-in-law, who insists on telling him her dreams of beams falling down and killing him instantly. At least I'm not that neurotic.

Also, being off on "vacation" this week with a very bossy, constantly-needing-to-be-entertained 4.5 year old, hasn't helped matters. Its bad enough I feel as if I've been abducted and forced to live in someone's creepy basement (without having "Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs" playing repeatedly on a dusty old tube television and a kid yelling "Draw a skeleton, mouse, snail, insert random animal or object here picture, Mommy!").

After a few days of this, I've lost whatever reason I may have started out with. Like yesterday for example. In a desperate attempt to flee from the hammering, drilling & welding sparks seen flying from my home, I grabbed Ciaran and dragged him to the nearest mall, which happens to be the size of an entire city block. Not exactly clear thinking on my part. True, it wasn't boxing day, but in these parts "boxing week" gives half the city the idea to mill about aimlessly, looking for so-called bargains.

Normally, I wouldn't have braved that crowd, but my dear, delusional hubby, obviously blinded by his love for me, purchased a beautiful sweater gift for me...in a size 4!! I am definitely not a size 4 - to be honest, I don't think I ever have been.

To make a long story short, we didn't return the sweater. There was a huge lineup and I don't do well with lineups - especially with a kid in tow. But we did end up taking this beauty home:

Ciaran enjoying his latest toy catch!

There was no logical reason for me to buy this for my son. He'd just gotten a sh!tload of toys for Christmas only days before. Strangers walking by the lineup to pay were looking at me like I'd lost my mind. The thing is bigger than he is.

I suppose I had gone a little insane - at least temporarily. I was tired and sweaty and I really needed the whining to stop. Also, I felt guilty because earlier that day he wouldn't get in his car seat and I said something to the effect that if he didn't I'd beat his ass. Oh, I didn't mean it. I never even usually talk like that, but I had that anxious, over-whelmed feeling I get when I'm being pushed to my limit.

A woman getting out of her car next to us gave me a really dirty look after hearing me. But she had the privilege of going shopping with her male friend without any kids tagging along. I'm sure I've given that same look to frazzled mothers back in my know-it-all pre-child days. So I didn't take it all that personally. One day she'll understand. And maybe even end up lugging a giant fish pillow home with her.

Anyway, Ciaran thinks it's pretty cool that I bought him a giant catfish at the mall. And I decided I'm not going to live my life with regrets anymore. Besides, it kind of goes with the psycho / abductor decor we have going on right now.

Must be Santa

I just realized that every one of my posts since the beginning of November have been about Christmas in some form or another (yes, all 3 of them - what can I say - it's a nutso time of the year). And... this post will be no different. It seems the whole world revolves around December 25 - even more so when you have kids.

But you know what? I love it. Yes, it's stressful and nerve-wracking and can cause mental anguish (when you can't find that one gift your kid really, really wants) and physical pain (like the blisters on my feet from walking up and down concrete mall floors in search of a gift that will have to suffice).

But like the line from that crappy Bryan Adams song , there is something about Christmas time that makes me wish it was Christmas every day. No offense to the Bryan Adams fans, I've just heard that song one time too many, lately.

Now, I'm not one of those insane over-the-top Christmas people who put up trees two months in advance and decorates every room in their house - no, I don't take it that far. But I do adore the scent of a real pine tree and insist on dragging one home every year while my hubby complains about the sticky sap all over the car and the needles we'll find well into the coming summer months.

I love drinking eggnog lattes, and getting bundled up for evening walks to stroll the neighborhood and see the lights against the crisp, white snow. I force let my son watch all my favorite childhood holiday movies and get just a tad carried away when the Heat and Snow Miser sing their awesome odes to the winter and summer, respectively.

And in my quest to make things all magical for my son at this time of year, we've unintentionally begun another Christmas tradition: The annual Santa photo. And not just any Santa photo. This ain't your typical fake-y cotton-bearded mall Santa, ya'll. If he doesn't look like the real deal, then I don't know who does. The best part is we've been lucky enough to track him down every year since Ciaran was a baby.

My little baby Santa's clearly unimpressed, here at 9mos.

Year 2 (sporting a rather bowl-like haircut, for some reason - shame on me!)

I know, not a Santa photo, but just look at that smile!

Santa, Ciaran and the ubiquitous pig

I skipped a couple of years in between so as not to bore you with pictures of my kid (well, that's not actually true - I just don't have digital versions of them). But isn't it cool that we have a picture of Ciaran with this  I mean the real Santa every year?

The only downside is that whenever another Santa makes an appearance, like at the JK Christmas concert, Ciaran has taken to shouting out indignantly "That's not Santa, Mom! He's not the real Santa." Which doesn't make him very popular with the JK crowd, let me tell you. Apparently, I've turned my son into a Santa snob. Great, yet another thing to add to my never-ending mommy-guilt.

Happy Holidays everyone!!

Homework woes

 Lately I've been feeling like a bad mom. Ok, that's nothing new - I admit I often feel like a bad mom. There's this thing called guilt - you may be familiar with it? I know I sure am.

It isn't that I don't give Ciaran tons of love and encouragement - I definitely do. I don't have a lot of time to play with him during the week - by the time I get home, get dinner made yada, yada, yada, it's almost bedtime. I do read to him every single night and then we cuddle and talk about his day at school or make up silly songs. Up until recently our little routine was working just fine and dandy.

But then, something started nagging at me, making me doubt my capacity as a mother and keeping me awake at night (well, not really, it's just one of the many things that prevent me from sleeping at night). I began to worry about Ciaran falling behind his peers and not being able to read or write whenever it is that kids are supposed to know how to do such things.

Normally, I wouldn't have thought twice about it - I always believed he'd learn when he's ready, not to mention - um, aren't they supposed to learn that stuff in school? But there's been a fairly large amount of assignments sent home for us to work on since Ciaran started Junior Kindergarten this past September.

I was not prepared for this. Worksheets are piling up like crazy and I can't keep up with them. Homework! In Junior Kindergarten. Is this normal? There are printing his name worksheets, counting and numbers worksheets and worksheets for each letter of the alphabet.

At first, I kind of ignored them, I just figured they were guidelines, not really to be taken all that seriously. Like, if we had a few spare minutes on a lazy Sunday afternoon, we could practice writing a few letters. But then the JK teacher started sending semi-snarky notes home about how all the kids need to learn to print their names by the end of the month.

I don't know about all the other JK kids, but mine can barely hold a pencil properly. He'd much rather build towers and houses made out of sofa cushions. And he has zero interest in writing anything, other than scribbles and the odd circle. Which brings me to the question: Am I a bad mother for not forcing my kid to do homework that he's clearly not ready for? But then, when is a good age?

If only we could win the lottery, then I'd stay home & home-school. 'Cause then it would be just fine if he didn't learn to write until he's like, 18. No one else would have to know. Also? We'd have the most kick-ass pillow house evah!

Something I Learned from an Annoying Turtle

We needed a break, my little boy and I. From the house, the T.V., the never-ending chores and errands and also from each other. But since we were stuck together in the midst of yet another weekend during which Daddy had to work, we made our escape.

It had to be done; I was heading down that panicky road I start spiraling towards when I'm trying so hard to be perfect and keep up with everything. Like when I spend all of Saturday morning cleaning, only to have to pick up every single toy ten times over, mop up spilled juice from a freshly-scrubbed kitchen floor, or get interrupted every 30 seconds with some question, request or other constant demand for attention.

And, in a moment of sheer exhaustion and weakness, I took out my frustration on my son, screaming at him for something he didn't deserve to be screamed at over. I hadn't meant to sound so harsh. But there they were, my words like a stinging slap across his fragile feelings, silencing his innocent questions.

His happy little face became downtrodden and those big, beautiful blue eyes turned so sad.

That constant lingering guilt kicked into overdrive as I knelt down to hug and kiss him, but his next question floored me.

"Mom, how come no one likes me?"

"What do you mean, honey?" I now felt like a total piece of crap. "Everyone loves you. I love you, Daddy loves you...."

"But you yell at me, Daddy yells at me, Nona yells at me..."

My heart sank. I needed to right my wrong. So, walking away from the pile of dishes in the sink and the endless baskets of laundry, I tried to make up for my mommy inadequacies.

And off we went to spend a summery afternoon at the splash park, followed by a visit to the local ice cream parlor. I started to curse myself for leaving the camera at home but that's okay. For once I lived in the moment and just enjoyed it. Enjoyed hanging out with my water-logged little boy in all his chocolate-covered bliss.

Then, just the other night as Ciaran was getting his nightly bedtime Franklin fix, something about this certain episode sounded very familiar. Franklin's parents had been reprimanding him for something or other (can you tell I totally blank out during these shows?). Anyway, this caused Franklin to think they hated him and he got all sulky and kept asking why no one liked him.

Stupid whiny turtle putting things in my kid's head. Parents - beware. Kids pick this stuff up and use it against it us in some kind of ploy to add to the already overwhelming daily guilt we feel. But, just like Franklin always seems to, I learned my lesson too. Dishes, laundry & all the rest will always be there. But a little boy is only four once.

Brainwashing little bastard.

Guilt

Whether as a result of my religious upbringing (I'm an ex-Catholic - strong emphasis on the ex), or perhaps it's one of those emotions instilled in all mothers the moment they give birth, but some days, I have overwhelming feelings of guilt.

Most of it stems from things I feel I should be doing but am not, either because I'm too busy, tired or just plain overwhelmed at the thought of whatever I'm currently avoiding/ignoring/putting off until later. Some of it stems from things I am doing, but wish I were not.

There is so much to deal with during the course of a day that many little (or not so little) things get left by the wayside and pushed back to the place where guilt begins to fester.

I know I'm not alone, so I thought I'd share my top 10 guilt triggers. Maybe you'll relate. Or maybe I'm just a neurotic guilt-mongering, freak. Decide for yourself:

1. Not spending enough "quality" time with my son. Time itself is not the issue. When I'm not at work, he's with me all the time, especially lately, now with his Mama's Boy phase in full effect.  It's the playing and teaching time where I feel I'm lacking.   

2. Not spending enough time with hubby. I can't take full responsibility nor am I casting blame, but his job requires him to work long hours and at times, he'll get home, have a bite to eat and go straight to bed. It doesn't help that we don't have anyone close enough to babysit for more than a couple of hours at a time, so date night is nothing more than a novel idea for us.

3. Our Only Child dilemma. Not to totally  re-hash my previous post, but if Ciaran had a sibling, or playmate his age, perhaps I'd feel less guilty about point #1.   

4. No time for family. My entire immediate family lives in other provinces and now that we all have families of our own, we rarely talk, other than on birthdays and Christmas. I know that's life, but it makes me sad all the same.   

5. Losing touch with friends. Same idea as #4, only my friends live much closer, so in some ways, it makes me feel worse. Even finding time to pick up the phone to say "hi" can be challenging. Especially since I forget all their phone numbers!  

6. Not exercising enough. Supposedly I'd have more energy to expend if I exercised more. But if I have no energy, how can I exercise? It's a vicious, vicious circle, I tell you.   

7. Not eating / making enough healthy meals. I try. I really do. As long as I don't buy junk food, I don't see it and therefore, am not as tempted to stuff my face with Sour Cream & Onion chips right before dinner. However, my husband does most of the grocery shopping (yes, in some ways I'm lucky) and he tends to pick up those naughty but oh-so-delicious snacks that I just can't resist!  

8. Not reading enough. I love to read. It's my second biggest pleasure after writing and slightly before my love of caramel-flavored cheesecake. But, again, other less important but necessary evils such as laundry and housework often take precedence and my reading material (literally) gets shelved.  

9. Not being career-oriented enough. I've never been one of those corporate ladder-climbing types. I've made mistakes and chosen paths I was not meant to follow (Hi, customer service rep position(s)!). I'm happy with the work I'm currently doing, although I still feel like I should be much further ahead at my age. It is nice that I can leave at 5:00 p.m. and go spend some (non-quality) time with my son.  

10. Not thinking "positive" enough. This is one I struggle with more than I'd like to admit. I've read a few "positive thinking" books and I wholeheartedly subscribe to the idea of changing your thoughts and changing your life. Dr. Wayne Dyer is one of my favorite self-help gurus. It's a good thing he's not a cult leader because I swear, his voice could command me to do almost anything. However, being positive takes constant practice and I tend to fall back into negative thought patterns, thinking the worst in certain situations.

So there you have it - the things that make my guilt-consumed mind tick. It seems to me that if I had a handle on all of the above, I could finally reach perfection. Isn't that what most of us strive for? Of course, we know it's unattainable, but it doesn't stop us (me, at least) from constantly beating ourselves up.  I am getting better at letting things go. All the little life lessons I'm learning as a Mom are slowly teaching me that some things are not worth worrying about.

The Lonely Child Dilemma

Lately, I've been thinking about our only child situation. Worrying is more like it. I never intended for it to happen - it just turned out that way. Another baby is not an option for us now. I feel way too old and tired to go through it all again. Plus, I can't imagine loving another child half as much as I love Ciaran. Oh, I know I would, but it's just hard for me to picture.

He doesn't seem to mind not having a brother or sister. I guess not knowing any better he's fine playing on his own, talking for his stuffed animals and answering them back. (Maybe something else I should worry about?)

At any rate, he's a happy little guy, always laughing and making up silly songs, talking a mile a minute, asking a multitude of questions on any given subject.

I bring him to play in our local park, but we are, more often than not, the sole visitors there. Our neighborhood consists mainly of seniors citizens, and there are very few kids, let alone kids his age, to be found. It's lonely for me, with no other moms or dads to chat and compare our kids playing habits with. I'm sure it's even lonelier for my son, with no one to chase around or build sand castles with.

So, I send him off to daycare a couple of times a week for that all-important 'interaction with other children' I keep hearing about. But, all of a sudden, he is a different child. Withdrawn. Quiet. Sad.

I kiss and hug him goodbye and put on the "cheerful voice" I use whenever I feel guilty making him do something I know he doesn't want to. Maybe you're familiar with that voice too. It's slightly higher-pitched than normal, usually quite perky-sounding with undertones of anxiety.

"Okay, honey, have a good day. Have lots of fun! Mommy will be back just as soon as she can, okay? I promise, sweetie pie! Okay, bye, love you!"

He hugs me back dutifully but his eyes search mine questioningly. "Why are you leaving me here, Mom? Why can't I stay home with Nona again today?" they ask.

Every day I'd ask him how his day went, did he had fun, make any friends? As much as I am concerned for his well-being, I wanted to clear my guilty conscious. But, no, he didn't have much fun and he did not make any new friends. The friends at daycare were mean, he said. They yelled and pushed and were very very loud.

Then, one day, he started talking more and more about another little boy. Lucas. "Lucas, your cousin?" I'd ask. "No", he said. "Lucas my friend at daycare." He and Lucas had lots of fun together, mostly laughing and acting silly as 3 and 1/2 year old boys are apt to do. They giggled uncontrollably when they'd see each other and my heart felt much lighter, leaving Ciaran with his new little comrade.

They both wore the exact same red snowsuits and black hats and when I'd drop Ciaran off at daycare in the morning, he'd race to the little cubbies where the jackets are hung to see if Lucas' was there.

Then, one day, Lucas' jacket was not hanging with the others. "Oh", Ciaran frowned, "Lucas is not here". "Well, maybe he's coming a bit later," I said. "If not, then you'll see him on Friday."

But Friday came and went, then Monday, and still no Lucas. I later discovered after reading the monthly daycare newsletter, that Lucas, along with a few other children had left the center. The daycare expressed sadness to see them go and wished them the best of luck. It happens. Families move, mothers decide to stay home and take care of their little ones. I'm not sure which one applied to Lucas and his family. But my little boy still misses his friend.

The other day, while washing Ciaran's clothes, I noticed that his black hat felt different. Slightly more worn. I looked at the label inside the hat. The writing was not mine. Upon closer inspection I saw the name Lucas written on it. A remnant of my child's first friend.

Mama's Boy

I'm sure it's just one of those never-ending phases that kids go through, but over the past year, Ciaran has become more and more clingy to me. It's gotten to the point where I can't go to the washroom without him wandering in behind me. I have to distract him with a toy or something so I can run to the ladies room & lock the door behind me. But as soon as he realizes I'm gone, he's dashing down the hall and pounding on the door shouting Mommy, Mommy! Let me in, I have to pee! So, of course, I open the door in case he really has to go, but 90% of the time he doesn't. Don't get me wrong, I love the fact that he wants to be around me, especially since it wasn't always that way.

For pretty much the first three years of his life, I could come and go without him blinking an eye. He would stay with anyone and barely seemed to notice when I'd leave or return. Once my mother-in-law commented about how strange it was that he didn't jump all over me when I came home. Like all her kids used to. I'll admit it - that got to me. I wondered if I was a good mom. If I was, was there something wrong with him? Like maybe he wasn't responding to me in a normal way? He seemed almost detached at times. My husband told me to stop analyzing things. But as every mom knows, it's impossible not to worry.

Now it's a different kind of worry. I worry about him starting school. I know sooner or later he'll have to break out of his shell, but he's started asking if I can ride the bus to school with him. The first time, I sort of brushed him off and said No, of course not, honey. Only kids go on the school bus. Then he got really quiet and didn't say anything for a long time. Thirty minutes later, when I'd already forgotten the conversation, he looked up at me with big, sad eyes and said Well, maybe Nona can ride the bus with me. It breaks my heart that he's already anxious about something that won't happen for months.

What he's also anxious about lately is anyone other than me dressing, bathing or feeding him. From the time he wakes up in the morning until bedtime, if I'm not the one rousing him from bed, getting his juice and putting on his slippers, all hell breaks loose. If my husband tries to help put him to bed or read a story, well, that's just asking for trouble. Ciaran will yell at him to Go away! and I want Mommy! And it's becoming very stressful, especially after coming home from a long day at work. I'm not liking the solo mothering thing. I have a whole new respect for single moms, because honestly, that's how I've been feeling lately.

On the other hand, while putting him to bed after snuggling up with a bedtime story, there's no better feeling in the world than hearing a little voice say I love you Mama, you're my favorite girwil!  Guess I'll just suck it up and enjoy this phase while it lasts.